Amoris Indiciums
by JayJay36
Summary: "Amoris Indiciums. A word that Sherlock never, ever wanted to ponder on in his life." All his life, Sherlock had thought the madness about "Amoris Indiciums" was completely ridiculous, the whole, finding your perfect "soulmate" crap. Yet, now he is faced with the fact that he has one, and that rejecting your soulmate is more difficult than it seems.
1. Chapter 1- An Introduction

**This story was actually based off of a prompt I created for Omegle and later I began to think how I could create a story from it, this was the end results. I'm not exactly sure if I want to continue on with it, so please follow, review or favorite it if you enjoyed the beginning. It'll definitely help me decide. :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

**P.S I don't have a beta, so please ignore any mistakes.**

* * *

Chapter One- An Introduction

_Amoris Indiciums_. A word that Sherlock never, ever wanted to ponder further on in his life.

Amoris indiciums were a special type of marking... almost like a tattoo, really. But at the same time, they couldn't be compared to a tattoo. A tattoo was something that a person chose to have inked into their skin, and when they grew tired of it, it could be removed. An amoris indicium couldn't be removed. It was something permanent, but almost looked like the ink from a tattoo.

Normally, they are found on the left wrist, but it isn't entirely uncommon for a person to receive one on the right. They form intricate, black curves and swirls, all unique and special. But if two people were meant to be together, their markings would be matching. It was highly uncommon to find that a person and their soul mate weren't destined to be together, and even more so uncommon to find someone that actually rejected their soul mate. Or didn't ever receive an amoris indicium all together.

Sherlock Holmes wished he didn't have one of those blasted markings, but unfortunately, it seemed that whatever higher power there was, choosing their soul mates, just wasn't listening to his requests. At least his soul mate was somewhat bearable, to a certain extent.

He could still remember the day that he received it. And he'd been so disappointed, even if his soulmate wasn't half that bad, he supposed. Sherlock didn't have time for romance or soulmates or anything else involved with that. He didn't need it either. All Sherlock desired or needed in his life was the work, cadavers and his experiments. Yet the dusty corner in his brain _loved_ to remind him just how much he quite possibly needed his soul mate.

The day Sherlock Holmes met John Watson was pegged as one of his worst days. And at the same time, it had been one of his greatest.

* * *

_He had been at the morgue again, just like usual when Molly would find him a body. _

"_How fresh?" he asked, staring down at the petite pathologist. _

"_Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. Used to work here." She had a fond look on her face, "I knew him, he was nice."_

_Ignoring her after she stated the necessary facts, he said, "Fine, we'll start with the riding crop then."_

_Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock just finished wildly whipping the corpse with the riding crop, letting out a single deep breath from the exercise of that activity. Molly entered, dropping the expression she had before, when she'd been looking on him through the window._

"_So... bad day, was it?" She flashed him a nervous yet joking smile._

_Again he just ignored her, as it was a waste of breath to even attempt to respond to her awful attempt of a joke. Sherlock pulled out his notebook and pen, scribbling inside of it, "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes, a man's alibi depends on it. Text me."_

_There was a moment of silence before Molly started, "Listen, maybe later, when you're finished-"_

"_You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before," Sherlock observed, cutting Molly off._

_She stumbled over her words as she looked for a quick cover up, "I, er... refreshed it a bit."_

_He flashed her a small look of disbelief but quickly let it slide back into his empty, usual expression, "Sorry, you were saying?"_

"_I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," She finished finally._

"_Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."_

"_Okay." Molly tried to ignore how disappointed she was, but she reminded herself that this was Sherlock Holmes she was speaking to. Ignorant to any sort of attempt of someone coming onto him._

* * *

_As Sherlock worked in the lab, he could hear the bits of a conversation from outside, ruining his train of thought completely. He could detect Mike Stamford's voice, speaking with someone the consulting detective didn't know, as he didn't sound familiar._

"_Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," He asked as the door creaked open, not even glancing up from his work. _

"_And what's wrong with the landline?" Came Mike's retort._

"_I prefer to text."_

_The stranger intervened, retrieving his mobile from his pocket and holding it out towards Sherlock, "Er... here, use mine."_

_That was the point that Sherlock finally turned his head up and in the short, blonde man's direction. His left arm tingled in a way he'd never felt before as their eyes met, heart thumping painfully against his ribcage in a way that puzzled him so._

And it took him until later that night after hours upon hours of wondering what exactly had happened -especially with his arm- for him to draw back the tight sleeve of his shirt and uncover an amoris indicium.


	2. Chapter 2- A Close Call

**Wow, thank you for the reviews, follows and favorites. I know it isn't a lot, but please know that if you did (or even just read the chapter), it truly made my day! So thank you very much. And, I apologize, this chapter is pretty slow, but it's kind of a filler for the next one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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Chapter Two- A Close Call

It was a lightless morning in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock hadn't had a case in a week and he was slowly but surely losing it. At least, that was what John had thought.

He hadn't even noticed that he'd spent all night hunched over the kitchen table, performing a new experiment when John came in and exclaimed, "Morning, Sherlock!"

Giving a slight jump, Sherlock awoke from his trance, head snapping over in John's direction. It took a few moments before he realized that his neck and back were sore. A groan escaped him as he rubbed at the back of his neck, hoping for some relief.

"Did you stay up all night in one position again?" John asked knowingly as he made himself his ritual morning cuppa and one for the detective as well.

Sherlock shrugged, taking the offered mug. "It would seem I had."

The blonde nodded, "I see. Still no cases?"

"Nothing worthwhile."

"I'm sure something will come along soon enough," he answered, a hint of pity in his tone, as he shuffled into the living room.

* * *

Around one o'clock, Sherlock's cell phone rang, and he knew it could only be Lestrade.

He set his violin and bow down against their spot as he walked over to the coffee table, pressing the 'talk' button before holding it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock? It's Lestrade, I've got a case for you and I was just wondering if you were interested. The victim was found with multiple deep slashes all over the body, so much that it was difficult to detect the gender, actually. You interested?"

Sherlock sighed audibly, deciding it was a six point seven at most on his interest scale, but at the same time, he was nearly desperate for something to do.

"I'll take it," he finally said.

"Ah, alright. Well, can I expect you soon then?"

"Yes, I'll be there in ten minutes. Goodbye, Lestrade," Sherlock said as he hung up, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"John! We've got a case!" He called as he pulled his coat and scarf on.

John thudded as he stepped down the stairs, taking his own jacket from the closet and slipping it on. "Brilliant."

They hailed a cab, climbing inside and soon enough they were inside some dingy, little flat. Sherlock was hunched over a nearly mutilated body, John chatting quietly with Lestrade nearby, face blanching each time he glanced over at the corpse.

"John, come here," Sherlock said, beckoning him over with a hand.

"Oh, do I have to?" He asked, cautiously shuffling up beside his flatmate.

"Yes, now get down here." Grabbing the sleeve of his coat, Sherlock tugged John down beside him so they were both crouching down next to the body.

"What do you think all these markings were made from?"

John arched one eyebrow in his direction but he glanced down at the body, "Uh.. I don't know, a cleaver or something with a thick blade?"

"Hm, that's what I was thinking. But see these cuts here? On the stomach? It looks much more thinner." Sherlock pulled up the shirt the corpse had been murdered in, exposing the long, thin cuts.

"Looks like a knife cut."

"Yes, but they look like it's been made someone with much practice."

John hummed for a moment before suggesting, "Maybe a butcher."

Sherlock nodded, rolling his latex gloves off with a snap and dropping them at his feet.

"You're correct, it was a butcher," he said finally, trying to ignore how his heart fluttered as John smiled happily, proud that he had passed whatever sort of test it was.

Okay, maybe he had mentally rejected John as his soulmate, but he couldn't help how much he... disgustingly enjoyed seeing him happy sometimes. Only sometimes though, it wouldn't change how much he enjoyed to see John all riled up.

"Now we have to find a name and catch him," Sherlock announced as he stood up, heading over to Lestrade to alert him of their findings.

* * *

Only two days later did Sherlock figure out who their murder was. A man named Alan Thompson, who was a butcher after all. He had been friends with the victim, Rick Smith, but they had recently become enemies after Alan had caught Rick sleeping with his wife. Out of anger, he had killed his ex-friend, forgetting to cover his tracks well enough.

He and John had found him hiding in his house as he knew the police would be searching for him soon enough, and had ran away as he had been found.

Now they were running through alleyways, hot on the butcher's tail.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?!" John called as Sherlock veered off to the right, taking another narrow alleyway instead.

He didn't respond, just continuing to sprint before he accidentally charged into the murderer, sending him flying to the ground while Sherlock stumbled for a moment.

The detective took the opportunity to hall the man up, left arm wrapped around his neck and daring him to try and move in Sherlock's tight grasp.

"Get Lestrade, John!" he called out as John came into view, him turning around and running the other way to get the DI.

Sherlock hadn't noticed, but his sleeve had shimmied down to his elbow, and his shirt sleeve was slowly sliding down itself as the man wriggled in his hold.

Eventually Lestrade and a few others huddled into the alleyway to arrest the man.

"Sherlock.. what is that? Is that an amoris indicium?" Lestrade asked as he cuffed the murder, gesturing with his chin at Sherlock's arm where, sure enough, one swirl of his amoris indicium was shown.

"No, it's nothing!" he exclaimed, tugging his sleeve down, "I was writing on myself with pen yesterday. For an experiment."

"Oh, alright," Lestrade replied, although he had a slightly suspicious look on his face.

And, little did Sherlock know, was that John hadn't heard the brief conversation over his marking, but he'd seen how Lestrade had given the detective a puzzled look and then Sherlock had acted... out of character by his expression, and even Lestrade had seemed slightly surprised by whatever he'd said, plus how nervous Sherlock seemed.

* * *

Later, John had found the curiosity was eating him alive as he sat on the sofa in the living room, pecking at the keys as he typed up the case for his blog, Sherlock sitting in his armchair as he indulged in crap telly.

"Sherlock, what were you and Greg talking about after we caught Alan?" He asked finally.

"Hm? Oh, it was nothing," Sherlock replied off-handedly.

John glanced up at him, "Didn't seem that way. You looked almost... nervous."

He shrugged in response, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The blonde sighed and carded a hand through his hair, he knew that he wouldn't get much else from Sherlock about earlier that evening.

After twenty minutes of silence, Sherlock let out an inaudible sigh of relief as it seemed that John had dropped the subject.

He couldn't believe he had slipped up, after years of hiding his amoris indicium from everyone. Because he really didn't want to imagine how everyone would react if they found out that _he_ had one of those ludicrous markings. So, not only was it bad that Lestrade had found out, even if Sherlock had come up with an explanation to cover up the truth, but John was now curious about it, even if he hadn't seen it.

He didn't want the doctor to ever see it or find out who had put the amoris indicium there. By the way that John dated numerous women, he was obviously not meant to be with Sherlock, maybe didn't even have a marking. But anyway, even if John did have an amoris indicium that matched the detective's, he would reject John, because he didn't want an intimate relationship.

So, he'd just have to be a bit more careful about hiding his mark, because he couldn't afford to slip up again.


End file.
